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Telegrams and anger

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1931 you were invited to supply the letter which might have followed the telegram: BASTARD REPEAT BASTARD ABUSIVE LETTER FOLLOWS.

For sheer unbridled abuse you can't beat the 'defamatory epithets' which the cake- bakers of Lerne hurled at the cake-bakers of Gargantua's country in Rabelais. Most of your invective looked undernourished in comparison. For sheer controlled hostility you can't beat Dr Johnson's letter to Lord Chesterfield. Martin Woodhead began well in that mode — 'To expatiate upon the evils you have done me were to waste invective upon unresisting imbecility' but then went over the top as well as being anachronistic. Roger Baresel wittily sidestepped: 'Actually it's two abusive let- ters — FU.' The prizewinners, printed below, get £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky goes to Chas F. Garvey.

As an Irishman might say, my telegram con- tained an omission. You're not just an ordinary

bastard — you're an exceedingly stupid bastard! Had you not been away on one of your piscatori- al vacations, I could have cheerfully throttled you after meeting Veronica Fawcett-Turngutt this morning. Madam took an obvious delight in recounting the gaffes you perpetrated at her soirée last Friday evening. I told you to stay close to me and keep a low profile, but no— you had to wander off and spew your pig-ignorance among the literati present. Ilan believe you were overheard enquiring if it was the fat one who'd written Jude the Obscure, but did you really claim that Zola invented the jacuzzi and then wrote a book about it? It was fortunate your views weren't sought apropos Thomas Mann's Death in Venice, otherwise you would probably have confessed you were unaware the poor fellow was ill.

(Chas. F. Garvey) Do you know, I feel positively jealous of Job. At least he didn't have a gormless publisher like you to contend with.

Have you any idea how much thought and weary effort goes into a monograph on the career of William the Conqueror as an illustra- tion of bend sinister transcendence in early mediaeval Europe? And have you any notion how it feels to see, staring up at you from cover after cover, in bookshop after bookshop, the leg- end William the Bustard? What do you employ as proof-readers — chickens with cataracts?

In one shop, you may be interested to learn, I finally located my book in the children's section — alongside works detailing the exploits of one Oswald the Owl — and found a dim-looking woman reading the jacket. 'He's got a brother called Odo,' she cooed to her little girl. 'Isn't that a pretty name?' Damn your eyes!

(Chris Tingley)

No. 10, Friday I said bastard, and again bastard, and I meant it. I have stood just about as much from you as I should be asked to. God knows I have tried to keep the ship on course since advantage was taken of my dental incapacitation to get rid of that woman: for example, stood on my head when needed, faced both ways without com- plaining, dressed up surrender as fair compro-

mise, held up failure as triumph, balanced on one leg or on none, been economical to the point of famine with the truth, and boot-licked my way through all the chancelleries of Europe. All I have asked from my colleagues is their loy- alty and their silence, preferably at the same time. And what have I had in return from you and those like you? Nothing except leaks, plots and conspiracies. Do you really not think there is a point at which even this worm will turn?

(Colin Shaw) Dear Cur, Further to my telegram, this is to inform you that you are a disgrace to humanity.

Yesterday you came to view my house, passing yourself off as a genuinely interested potential buyer, and you were treated with great courtesy. I even went so far as to instruct my wife to make you a cup of tea, which I now wish had been hemlock. In the course of conversation you asked me where we were to make our new home and I told you. Immediately on leaving my house you proceeded to that attractive property, for which I was expecting to sign the contract today, and cajoled the seller into allowing you to buy it over my head.

I look forward to calling on you at your earli- est inconvenience and shaking you warmly by the throat. (Michael Birt) I had to restrain myself in the telegram. They can spell bastard, but I felt that such words as oleaginous, cloaca! and hyena would suffer in transmission.

As my guest you had everything this house had to offer, including, it now appears, my wife. You might have said thank you and goodbye. I emerged from my bath to find you, and the com- fort of my empty days in this remote place, gone.

Send it back by express. I suppose you wanted to finish that crossword. But what about my Competition? I've not yet read what we're meant to do. You know I have never won it; you know I do little else; and you know this place has no newsagent. Snake! You may keep Ethel.

(Patrick Ussher)